Chapter 5: The Other Woman

After that day, I never brought up Riley Monroe again.

I buried her name deep, only letting it surface when I was alone with my thoughts. It was easier that way, to pretend I didn’t notice the little things Ethan did to keep her safe.

Neither did Ethan.

We settled into our routine: polite dinners, separate schedules, careful silences. The boundaries were clear, the rules unspoken.

But I knew he was always watching out for her.

Sometimes, in the quiet of our penthouse, I’d hear him on the phone—his voice softer, more vulnerable than I’d ever heard it with anyone else. I pretended not to listen, even as every word carved a notch in my heart.

We lived together, so I ended up overhearing things I wasn’t supposed to.

Sometimes it was a whispered conversation in the hallway, sometimes a note scribbled on a napkin. Ethan never meant for me to know, but the truth has a way of slipping through even the thickest walls.

That’s how I learned Ethan had secretly arranged a job for Riley.

It was at a non-profit downtown, the kind of place that made headlines for its impact. He worked his connections quietly, never leaving a trace of his involvement. I found out when I overheard his assistant mention the interview.

The salary was great, and the position was respectable.

Riley would never have to worry about rent or medical bills again. The Caldwell reach stretched further than anyone knew.

To protect her pride, he pulled a lot of strings so even the person hiring her didn’t know it was Ethan’s doing.

I admired the way he did it—never drawing attention, always letting Riley believe she’d earned it on her own. Pride matters when you’ve had to fight for every inch.

He was thoughtful like that.

It was one of the reasons people trusted him—even when they shouldn’t. He always remembered the little things, the details that made all the difference.

There were lots of things like this.

A scholarship for Riley’s younger brother, a ride home for her mom after physical therapy, a bag of groceries left on their porch when money was tight. Ethan’s love was the quiet, steadfast kind that didn’t ask for thanks.

After a while, even I felt like if they didn’t end up together, it had to be fate’s cruelty, not their fault.

I stopped blaming either of them. The world wasn’t fair, and love didn’t always pick sides. Sometimes, I caught myself rooting for them, even as it broke my own heart.

My relationship with Ethan stayed lukewarm.

We were two actors in a play whose ending had already been written. The audience might have cheered, but the story never changed.

He felt a little guilty about my injury, but I ruined even that with a careless comment, like I just didn’t get it.

I shrugged it off, joked about being clumsy. The chance for tenderness slipped away, replaced by the old, familiar chill.

Things only eased up two months later.

Maybe it was the time, maybe it was the weather, or maybe it was the way grief and gratitude can twist together in unexpected ways.

Of course, it was because of Riley.

It always was. No matter how hard I tried to write my own story, she was the center of his universe.

Her mom—the woman from that day—had been in a car accident a few years ago, leaving her with trouble walking. She needed regular check-ups every few months.

I’d seen the medical bills, the insurance forms Riley carried like armor. She never complained, just did what needed to be done.

One day, it rained. While bringing in laundry from the porch, her mom slipped and hit her head. A neighbor saw and rushed her to the hospital.

I imagined the scene: rain pounding the roof, Riley’s panic as she dialed number after number, praying someone would answer.

At the time, Ethan was out of town, stuck in meetings all day.

He was somewhere in Chicago, locked in a boardroom with executives who didn’t care about emergencies back home. His phone went unanswered, the hours crawling by.

Riley couldn’t reach him, and with nowhere else to turn, she came to the Caldwell house.

I was surprised, but not shocked. Sometimes, when you’re desperate, you’ll knock on any door you think might open.

That day, Mrs. Caldwell had just bought a few pieces of jewelry at an auction and had called me over to pick two.

The drawing room was crowded with velvet cases and the faint scent of Chanel No. 5. Mrs. Caldwell wanted my opinion on a sapphire brooch, her voice sharp with excitement.

Halfway through, I heard someone knocking.

The sound echoed down the marble hallway, breaking the spell. For some reason, my heart skipped a beat.

For some reason, my eyelid twitched, so I stopped the housekeeper who was about to answer and opened the door myself.

I don’t know what made me do it—instinct, maybe. Something told me this was a moment I needed to own.

I opened it and saw Riley’s pale, desperate face.

Rainwater dripped from Riley’s sleeves onto the marble floor, leaving a trail the housekeeper would probably curse later. She was soaked, hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes wide with fear. In that moment, she looked younger, more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her.

She saw me, froze, then pressed her lips together. “I’m looking for Ethan.”

Her voice was thin, but steady. I knew how hard it was for her to ask for help, especially from me.

Before I could answer, Mr. Caldwell came out, his voice stern. “Natalie, who’s at the door? Thought I heard someone asking for Ethan.”

His presence filled the foyer, his tone all business. For a second, I panicked, unsure what to do.

I was startled and met Riley’s eyes.

She gave me a look—pleading, uncertain. My heart twisted as I realized how much she was risking by coming here.

Then I turned back, smiled lightly, took Riley’s hand, and introduced her to the Caldwells: “Grandpa, it’s my friend, here to see me.”

The lie slipped out easily, my best WASP smile in place. I squeezed Riley’s hand, hoping she understood.

Mr. Caldwell gave us a look, then after a moment, nodded. “If you have something to do, go ahead. I’ll have the driver take you.”

He didn’t press, just waved us off. The old-money code: never ask questions you don’t want the answers to.

I agreed, then took Riley out of the Caldwell house.

We hurried down the steps, the rain drumming against the stone. I didn’t look back, afraid the moment would shatter if I did.